Chapter 12: Faking It
The first word Klaus received that Rolf had returned from New York was when Rolf texted him on his cell phone. Klaus's initial thought was that Peter was causing issues, but surely someone would have notified him. The flight from New York to Budapest was a lengthy one. Why hadn't Jacek let him know Rolf was coming?
His brother was in his office down the hall from Neal's room. Rolf didn't turn around when Klaus entered but continued to study the painting of The Astronomer hanging on the wall. Was that the cause of his return?
"Is yours the genuine work?" Klaus asked.
Rolf didn't answer for a moment. "I don't know yet. Jacek hasn't had a chance to inspect the contents of Peter's safe. The Raphael painting may be there as well." He turned to face Klaus. "Has Neal provided the details of where it is?"
"Not yet, and I haven't pushed. We've made great strides. We're closer than ever . . . if Penfold doesn't ruin it."
"Take a seat," Rolf said, not commenting on Klaus's assessment. He took his place at the massive Gothic desk.
Klaus appropriated the leather side chair. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon."
"Marta and Jacek can take care of the New York end. It proceeds well. Peter and Henry are under constant surveillance. Once they steal Starry Night, we'll be ready to move to the next phase."
Did he also mean severing the ties with Ydrus? Klaus didn't dare mention it in Rolf's office which was undoubtedly bugged. "When will that happen?"
"Thursday night." Rolf picked up a Renaissance geometric compass and gently pressed the tips onto the palm of his hand. "How's Neal?"
"His symptoms have diminished steadily. He continues to improve," Klaus said, faking a confidence he didn't feel.
"That's not what Anya tells me. I stopped to talk with her on the way upstairs. She reports that Neal still suffers from hallucinations. She showed me some of the footage." Rolf frowned. "I didn't have to observe it for long to see he's having issues. He even called you Henry a couple of times. Neal's confusion must be a concern to you. Penfold's services are more essential than ever."
Klaus forced himself to remain calm. "I disagree. Neal's state is caused by the previous procedure. It's our fault he's the way he is. If Penfold does any more tampering, all we'll be left with is a vegetable."
"You're exaggerating. Penfold has performed the procedure on several test cases. Each one was successful."
"Oh really? Did you know what they were like before the work was done? I do. Now the men are only shells."
"That's not true. They retain all their abilities."
"But they've lost their personalities. They might as well be robots. We can't let that happen to Neal."
"You overstate the risks." Rolf's calmness was infuriating. How could his brother be so dispassionate about destroying a man? Klaus felt an unexpected urge to throttle him. "Penfold wants to perform the procedure tomorrow morning. Can't we at least wait till Friday?" By then he could have a plan in place to spirit Neal away.
"Anya feels it would be unwise and, I agree." Rolf rose and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're like any parent before surgery—imagining the worst from a simple tonsillectomy. Once it's over, you'll see. This is best for both Neal and you."
#
"Neal didn't appear to have any injuries," Sara said, "but I'm sure they're drugging him with something."
Sara and Mozzie's call came through just after Peter returned from lunch. For once, Mozzie didn't object when Peter said he was putting them on speaker and recording every word they said. It was the confirmation they'd hoped for.
"You were in disguise," Peter pointed out. "Are you sure he recognized you?"
"When I was searching for the spoon, Neal crouched next to me. I was able to whisper my name in his ear. He kept his face low so cameras wouldn't be able to record him, but I could see the recognition in his face. And also the desperation. What's the significance of the word river?"
"It's Neal's panic phrase. Did he use it?"
"We knew we were being monitored so he breathed it so softly I almost didn't catch it. He repeated it, and I'm sure I got it right."
"We're already working on that extraction," Peter promised.
"He must know of a dastardly plan in the works," Mozzie said. "How soon can you get here?"
Peter was already pulling up the flight schedule on his computer. "The earliest flight I'll be able to catch leaves at eight o'clock tonight. It arrives midday in Budapest. Meeting with the Hungarians, setting up the logistics . . . It will probably be late Wednesday night or Thursday morning before anything can be attempted. I'll need you in Budapest tomorrow."
"One of us should stay to monitor the castle," Mozzie said. "Sara will meet you."
When they signed off, Peter made a phone call to Doc Jacob. Afterward, he had Jones, Diana, and Travis join him in the conference room.
"Mozzie's positive it was Rolf he saw?" Jones asked.
Peter nodded. "Mozzie was raking the front beds when the car rolled up. In the last photograph we had of Rolf, he'd been wearing a fake beard, but this time he was clean-shaven—the same way he's looked for me. His appearance resembles the last photos we have of him before he faked his death."
"That Whistler painting Sara mentioned in Neal's room is a major concern," Diana said. "In the virtual reality program, the painting was also hanging in his bedroom. We'd discussed the possibility of a second trigger. This could be it."
"That was my reaction, too," Peter said. "I called Neal's therapist and Jacob agreed. Whatever he's being drugged with is likely interfering with his ability to cope." Peter's words trailed off. There was no need to discuss his fears about the damage being done. The team shared them. "Jones, you're in charge of surveillance. Jacek and Bianka's locations are still pinpointed, I assume?"
Jones nodded. "We're aware of every move they make. Still no sign of Marta but if she contacts them, we'll snag her too."
"Good. They expect us to be working on the heist and that's what we'll give them. The theft is supposed to take place Thursday evening. By then we should have Neal rescued and Ydrus headquarters captured." Optimistic words. That was only two days off. He didn't want to calculate the odds of being able to pull together a rescue operation in a remote area of Hungary so quickly. Peter noticed the worried glances the team members exchanged with each other. When an agent gave the panic signal, they were supposed to perform an immediate extraction. The clock was now threatening to gallop ahead of them.
Peter clamped down on the doubts. The schedule they'd prepared was tight but doable. He turned to Travis. "I told Henry to meet us at your place in two hours."
"I'll call Richard. We'll be ready."
#
Henry waited impatiently at the door of Travis's apartment. He'd been surprised that Peter had relented to his demand to go to Hungary, but he wasn't about to question it. The fact that Peter asked him to come to Travis's apartment guaranteed that master makeup artist Richard would be there to work his voodoo magic on whatever agent had been roped in to play Henry. He wondered who'd been picked and was prepared to not be overly critical. Peter was as much on edge as he was. No unnecessary waves.
Peter opened the door, or was it really him? Henry stood back and eyed him carefully. The man raised an eyebrow just like Peter.
"Travis? Say something," Henry demanded. "Or do you have his voice nailed too?"
"The voice is still a work in progress," Travis admitted. "I've recorded a list of replies and questions and programmed them into voice-modifier software. For a telephone call, I'll be fine."
He stood aside to let Henry enter the hallway. Richard and Peter were standing behind him.
Richard scrutinized Travis, a slight frown on his face. "I still need to work on the worry lines."
"Once the action begins," Travis added, "those lines will pop out on their own."
"Where's my double?" Henry asked.
"Follow me." Richard led him into the living room where a man was sitting on the sofa, strumming Richard's guitar. He looked up when Henry entered and did a double-take. Henry was sure his face had the same gobsmacked expression. The dude was his double.
"Man, I wouldn't have believed I had a doppelganger," the stranger said. "I'd seen the photos, but still . . ."
Hell, the guy even had Henry's voice. It was pitched a little lower. Henry didn't think his sounded as much like a growl, but the resemblance was eerie.
"Henry, meet Dean Winchester," Peter said. "I called him yesterday."
Neal had told him about Dean, but their paths had never crossed. Not a surprise. Henry preferred to avoid vampires and the other monsters that the Winchester brothers hunted. It was truly unfortunate Neal and Peter hadn't been as successful. The fact Dean was here showed that Peter trusted the guy to take his place. That was all Henry needed to know.
"I was working a job nearby," Dean said. "Sam and Bobby can handle it without me."
"Consider this a vacation," Henry said. "The fridge is stocked with beer. You can use my credit card. I have a stack of takeout menus by the phone."
"Cable?" Dean asked.
Henry relaxed into a smile. "Yep, including all the premium channels."
"You'll need to report for work at Henry's office during the day," Peter said, "but that shouldn't be too onerous. He has a pool table in the reception area, and several team members who relish any excuse to play poker."
At Dean's sly smile, Henry added, "Try not to fleece them for too much. I'll leave you my cell phone, as well."
"Peter already filled me in on the job," Dean said. "Are you expecting any calls?"
"No, my family and friends know I'm on assignment. They won't expect an immediate response."
"Peter, it's time to get you ready," Richard said. "I have the supplies in the kitchen."
"Is this the new look Neal was telling me about?" Henry asked.
Richard nodded. "He calls it his Viking persona. You'll have to tell me what you think."
For once Peter didn't object to being made over. While Richard worked on him, Henry applied what he'd dubbed his Johnny Depp disguise—a wig with lank locks falling over his forehead, a thin mustache, and a small goatee. Peter's mustache and beard were fuller. He also had a nose prosthetic. His dark hair was collar length and flecked with a few highlights.
Peter had alerted Henry to bring a change of clothes with him. Dean would wear the suit he arrived in while he'd change into jeans and a pullover sweater. They'd go to his loft together with Henry staying only long enough to pick up his bag. Travis and Peter, both in disguise, would stop off in Brooklyn where Tricia, disguised as El, was waiting for them.
"You told me you're heading out to rescue Neal," Dean said. "Where did he get into trouble this time?"
"Hungary," Peter said.
His brows arched. "Transylvania land? And you swear there are no vamps involved?"
Peter's smile was a little tenuous. "That's in Romania, and a crime syndicate is holding Neal captive, not minions of Dracula."
Dean shrugged. "Crime and fangs go together. How far away can Transylvania be? Aren't you the one who claims Neal's a vampire magnet? I'll give you the phone number of a hunter in Romania—Stefan—I think I've mentioned him to you. Never hurts to be prepared, and I warn you upfront—I fly only under exceptional duress."
Peter hesitated for only a second. "Go ahead and write down his contact information."
#
Klaus's breath appeared as white puffs in the early morning air. The castle turrets were dusted with a light coating of frost. He found the air bracing, but clearly Neal had a different opinion. He was hunched against the door, his hands in his pockets and his head pulled deep into the hood of his parka. Despite the supposed reduction in medication, Neal was quiet and withdrawn, making Klaus wonder if any modification had been made.
Soon, though, Neal would improve. Klaus had finally been able to persuade Anya to order a halt to his medications. She had no choice. With the death last night of one of his model patients, Penfold could no longer claim his procedure was safe. Now Anya understood that nothing the doctor said could be trusted. Neal was far too valuable to undergo such a risky technique.
It was galling that only now did Rolf seem to appreciate the danger of experimenting on Neal. His brother's condescension was vinegar on an open wound. Rolf still thought of Klaus as a youngster who needed guidance. That kid had grown up long ago and was eminently capable of taking matters into his own hands.
Rolf was right on one account though. Soon they'd put Ydrus behind them. On Thursday night, Peter and Henry would steal the painting. Klaus and Neal could return to New York on the following day. By Monday, Neal should be able to resume his life. Klaus planned to establish his new headquarters in New York, as far away from Anya as possible. Rolf continued to believe she was a necessary evil for the moment, but by December they'd be free of her.
Neal might be cold, but he no longer appeared anxious on their rooftop perch. When they were in New York, they'd both climb Riverside Church and check out that dragon gargoyle together.
"You're in a good mood," Neal remarked. "Any particular reason?"
No harm in telling him, and Neal needed encouraging news. "Penfold's no longer an issue."
"What happened?"
"One of his test subjects died last night. Cardiac arrest. Anya's halted the program. There'll be no more shots, and, more importantly, no more threats of Penfold subjecting you to one of his programs."
Neal gasped in relief. "You're sure?"
Klaus nodded. "Next stop New York."
"I'll be able to see Peter and El? Resume my life?"
"Absolutely. Hopefully next week you'll return to the FBI. They're good people. They care for you. The extracurricular activities you'll perform won't negate your relationship with them, I promise."
"I'll simply have a secret second life?"
"You got it. Sound good?"
"Like a dream come true!"
#
Eric hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone. What was the use? His call would just go to Henry's voicemail. He lay down his mechanical pencil and gloomily picked up the L-square. The ruler was a good metaphor for their relationship, if you could call it that. They were going in two opposite directions with no apparent deviation on the horizon.
Eric had been with Henry long enough to know when he was being given a snow job. It was painfully clear that Henry was relieved Eric's work was so demanding. Did he honestly think that no matter how busy Eric was, he wouldn't find a way to spend time with the man he was attempting to build a life with?
A month ago, Eric might have explained the reason for his trip to Guatemala without being asked. Was he subconsciously trying to retaliate? Henry had shut him out, so he should do the same? The thought made him wince. He was being ridiculous. Wasn't Henry worth making a few more allowances?
After all, Henry had never been in a serious relationship before. He'd been out for less than a year. Missteps were inevitable. It was understandable Henry found it difficult to open up, particularly since so much of his work was confidential. Eric resolved to finish the drawing and then give him a call.
His assistant Lucy Kang appeared at the doorway, carrying a stack of envelopes. "The mail came early today." Eric was surprised at the volume as Lucy sorted through the items. Usually once the bills were removed, there wasn't much left.
She held up a plain manila envelope. "We don't see many of these. There's no postage. It's marked confidential for you. Someone must have slipped it into our mailbox. A nervous client, perhaps?"
"Thanks." He waited till she left his office before opening it, a knot forming in his stomach. He'd recently secured the bid for the restoration of a building into inexpensive artist apartments. Had the SoHo Arts Community Association changed their minds? That would be beyond cruel.
Eric slit open the envelope. Inside were several four-by-six-inch photos. Henry was in every one of them . . . along with a woman. His hands were all over her. Her blouse was open, revealing a skimpy black-lace bra. Henry's shirt was unbuttoned too. In one of the photos, his hand was on one of her breasts as he leaned over her. In another, her hand rested on his groin.
Eric fought the urge to shred the photos. A short, printed message was on a slip of paper: From a friend. Was this supposed to be a blackmail attempt? Then they'd sent it to the wrong person. He forced himself to look at the photos again. There was no indication of when or where they'd been taken.
He hadn't spoken with Henry in over two weeks. That was on the evening Henry had returned from Japan. He claimed he'd be working on a case and would touch base at the end of it. Was this the case? Was this how Henry conducted investigations? If so, he'd fallen into the deep end. Someone was taking advantage of Henry, and that undoubtedly meant he was in a mess of trouble.
Eric reached for his cell phone. When he pressed Henry's speed-dial number, the only response was that same damn voicemail message he'd already heard countless times. Eric kept it simple, saying it was urgent. Then he tried Neal's cell. No answer either, forcing him to leave yet another message. Unwillingly, his eyes returned to the photos. They appeared to have been taken in some luxurious bedroom, maybe a hotel suite. He realized Henry kept secrets, but nothing like this.
It was almost lunchtime. Henry's office was only a few blocks away. Eric decided to take a chance and see if Henry wasn't answering because he was in a meeting. If nothing else, the walk might help him calm down. Grabbing his jacket, Eric explained to Lucy and his draftsman Faisel that he'd be back in an hour and took off.
As he approached Henry's building, he was in luck. Henry was exiting the front doors. He must not have checked his cell phone before he left.
Eric rushed forward, waving his hand. "Hey, Henry!"
Of all the responses he'd expected, being ignored was not one of them. Henry acted like he hadn't even heard him. Eric pushed through the passersby but before he could catch up, Henry jumped into a taxi. The worst was for a moment he looked straight at Eric. There was no chance Henry couldn't have seen him. No smile, not even a nod of acknowledgment?
#
"Travis works at the FBI. Does he shut you out of his life?" Eric demanded.
Richard wanted to be honest, but he tried to soften the truth so Eric's situation wouldn't seem so bleak. "It's different for me. Neal and I were friends before I met Travis. Neal's studio is next to mine at Columbia. We see each other almost daily. Recently I've been helping them with a couple of their cases."
Richard had gotten to know Eric when he was the architect in charge of the restoration of Henry's loft and Win-Win's office. Once Henry and Eric began dating, Richard and Travis sometimes joined them at Riffs or other clubs. So it wasn't a surprise when Eric showed up at Scima Gameworks during the lunch hour. He worked in the vicinity and was probably at loose ends with Henry away.
His agitation though, that was unexpected. Eric was normally a low-key kind of guy. Now he was seething with anger. When Richard realized how upset he was, he suggested they go to a nearby pizza joint where he could vent his frustration.
"Those photos must have been part of a trap," Richard said. "I know Henry was out of town for a few days. They were probably shot then. Do you mind if I show them to Travis?"
"Take them." Eric retrieved the envelope from his satchel. "I don't want them back." He picked up his mug of coffee with both hands and held onto it for a moment before setting it back down without taking a sip. "Is Henry in trouble?"
Define trouble. Richard knew better than to give any specifics on the case. This could be the woman Henry had targeted in England. If so, it indicated Ydrus knew about Eric. He could be picked up and questioned. Under the circumstances, Eric would be in a safer position if he didn't have anything to divulge, and that meant Richard couldn't tell him about Dean. "Henry's working with Peter. As far as I know, Henry's okay but Neal's not. I'm sorry, I can't tell you more."
"I tried to call Neal. It went to his voicemail." Eric rubbed his chin. "It figures that Neal's involved. Henry would do whatever it takes to help him out . . . even seduce a woman, I suppose." He began tearing his slice of pizza into strips. "This may work for Henry, but not for me. He tells me how much I mean to him, but does he understand what being in a relationship entails? We should be there for each other, not keep secrets." He shook his head and grimaced. "It's not his fault. I assumed too much. Once Henry takes care of his family and job, he has no time for anyone else."
"Don't let this mess with your head," Richard urged. "This is an unusual situation. It won't continue indefinitely. Henry's like Neal. He worries about others getting caught in the crossfire of his problems."
"I know that, and I've tried to be understanding, but there are limits." Eric took a breath. "I want what you and Travis have. You're partners, not just in love but in every other aspect of your lives. I thought Henry and I were on that same path. Now I realize I don't have the foggiest notion about where he's heading."
Richard ached for him. It was plain how much Eric cared for Henry, but Richard didn't know to what extent those feelings were reciprocated. "I'm sure Henry can explain it. He undoubtedly wanted to shield you from any fallout . . ." His words trailed off. There wasn't much he could say which would ease the pain.
Eric shrugged. "Today on the street, he was a stranger. That's not the kind of person I can see a future with."
